


in short, i am disgusted with everything in the world but yourself

by thaliasgrace



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study (kind of), M/M, Poe is grieving & generally a mess, Post TROS, SPOILERS for TROS, also screw disney, the space boyfriends are going thru it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22244578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thaliasgrace/pseuds/thaliasgrace
Summary: In an awful way, Poe had always imagined himself dying in a blaze of glory. He’d imagined a daring rescue gone wrong, a heroic sacrifice. It’d kept him up some nights, wondering exactly how he’d die for the Resistance. (Because of course it had always been how, never if.)Now he’s standing on the other side of the war, General Poe Dameron, with absolutely no fucking idea what to do next.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 3
Kudos: 50





	in short, i am disgusted with everything in the world but yourself

**Author's Note:**

> basically, fuck Disney. Also, this isn’t a light-hearted storm pilot fic- Poe struggles a lot with Leia’s death and the end of the war, as well as Snap’s death and just general war stuff, so if you find that triggering, don’t read.  
> I only saw TROS once so apologies if I misremembered things from it or the general Star Wars verse, feel free to correct me!  
> Title from a letter from Alexander Hamilton to John Laurens because I’m that bitch.

The war is over. 

It’s good news. It’s  _ great  _ news. Poe always wanted the war to be over and for them to win, has wanted it for so long that now that it’s done, he almost doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

There, in a nutshell, is the problem. 

In an awful way, Poe had always imagined himself dying in a blaze of glory. He’d imagined a daring rescue gone wrong, a heroic sacrifice. It’d kept him up some nights, wondering exactly how he’d die for the Resistance. (Because of course it had always been  _ how,  _ never  _ if. _ ) 

Now he’s standing on the other side of the war, General Poe Dameron, with absolutely no fucking idea what to do next. 

_ You’re a fighter,  _ his father had always told him.  _ You’re a pilot. You fly so much you’ve practically got wings, and you may as well have blasters growing as extra arms at this point.  _

Poe had grinned.  _ There’s a war to win, Dad. That’s a good thing.  _

_ What about when the war stops?  _

Poe had felt slightly guilty about his secret fantasies of dying in a blaze of glory, then, but it didn’t change the fact that he still believed he would die, that Leia would not, that the Resistance would be led by Leia to a final victory, and he would be a hero in a story, confined to the pages of a history book and the voices of storytellers instead of having to live in the  _ after  _ of  _ ever after  _ when  _ happily  _ is...  not quite occurring. 

He’s General fucking Dameron, and Leia is gone. 

_ What about when the war stops?  _

“General fucking Dameron,” he whispers to himself, alone in his bed, the first night after they won. “General fucking Dameron.” 

Of course, there’s General fucking Finn, too. Co- generals. Poe isn’t sure that Leia had that in mind (an ex- Stormtrooper and a hot-headed good-for-nothing pilot leading the Resistance!) but it’s what’s happening, so. Poe and Finn, a two-headed beast. Or three-headed, when you count Rey.

And Rey is similarly untethered. At last, the two of them seem to be getting into some sort of rhythm, two lost people trying to figure themselves out. She doesn’t talk about what happened with Kylo Ren. Fine. Poe knows that he’s dead, and that’s enough. 

Anyway, Poe doesn’t talk about anything that happened during the battle. He doesn’t talk about Snap’s X-Wing crashing in a blaze of fire. He doesn’t talk about the way his controls had stopped working momentarily, how he’d felt an almost awful sense of relief-  _ I’m dying for the Resistance, at last-  _ and then the feeling when the electricity in the sky had stopped and he had regained control. He doesn’t talk about how it felt when Rose told him that Finn was- 

He doesn’t let himself think about it. 

_ I’m fast,  _ he’d said. He had been about to go in, to try and get Finn out, because of course he had- because it had been _Finn-_

He doesn’t let himself think about it, but the scenes play themselves over and over in his head anyway. 

_ I’m not Leia,  _ he’d told Finn, hands spread.  _ Help me,  _ he’d thought.  _ I don’t know what I’m doing.  _

_ That’s for damn sure,  _ Finn had responded. What was Poe supposed to say to that? He’d just turned away, silent. 

He’s doing an awful lot of silent these days. Finn had even pulled him aside after a meeting, brows furrowed, cheerful face uncharacteristically worried. “How are you? I’m worried about you, Poe, we all are.” 

“It’s a lot,” Poe had begun, and then he’d stopped himself.  _ I’m not Leia-  _ and then, a moment after- _ that’s for damn sure.  _ He was fine, he had always been fine, he would never stop being fine. “Don’t worry about me, buddy.” He forced a smile on his face, pulling the mask of Poe Dameron, darling of the Resistance, over his normal expression. Except that only reminded him of who he had really been the darling of- which singular person had encompassed the Resistance the most. “I’m fine.” 

_ What about when the war stops?  _

When the war stops, Finn leans into being a General. He smiles, is polite, is clever and quick and everything Poe isn’t. He rebuilds. 

When the war stops, Rey struggles, but she manages. She buries Luke and Leia’s lightsabers in the sand and forges a new name for herself. Rey Skywalker. 

When the war stops, Poe Dameron falls apart. He cracks at the edges, and then the cracks start to spread inwards, and he can’t sleep but he can’t stay awake either- 

Everybody else, it seems, is healing. It’s only been a few months, but people seem to be pulling themselves up from the edges of the metaphorical cliff, whereas Poe is hanging on by a single fingernail, asking himself why Leia ever thought he would be able to do this. 

What about when the war stops, General fucking Dameron? 

What about when the war stops? 

“I loved him,” Jess says. She leans on his shoulder as they sit in Poe’s rooms. He still has his old Commander’s rooms, the ones he shares with Finn, because they’re clearing out the General’s room still. Poe doesn’t quite know what will happen when they’re clear. “I loved Snap. You did too. We all did. And now he’s just-“ She clicks her fingers. “Like that.” 

“It’s so fast,” Poe mumbles. He places his head on Jessika’s, lets himself have this moment of comfort. They’re both drunk, or on the way to drunk at the very least, and it’s as nice as it can be.  _ What about when the war stops?  _ “I don’t know what to do now, Jess.” 

He hesitates. There’s a small, soft silence, and he feels raw and stripped, like Jess is seeing the worst parts of him. He doesn’t know why he’s telling Jess this, not Finn. Him and Finn share everything. (Not everything. Not anymore. Not ever. What about the spice runners and whatever Finn was going to say to Rey?) 

“I’m so afraid.” 

“Yeah,” Jess says. Her body sags against his. “Everyone else is learning how to live again, but I can’t.” 

Finn arrives back half an hour later. Jess makes some excuse, and Poe pulls his jacket off, scrubs a hand over his eyes. Exhausted in a way that goes beyond sleep. 

“Poe,” Finn says. The light is turned down low, and Poe can’t quite make out the expression on Finn’s face, just the outline of him, the shape of him sitting on the bed. “You can talk to me if you want.” 

“I’m just so afraid,” Poe whispers. “All the time. And I thought it would end with the war- all of it. The anger and the fear and the-“ he swallows. “I don’t do things by halves. I feel things. All the time. And I - Leia always said I was passionate, and that it was a good thing. And my dad always said I was a fighter, and I am, but now there’s no war, there’s just bodies-“ He cuts himself off before he can give too much of himself away, because Finn doesn’t trust him fully anymore.  _ What did you want to say to Rey?  _

He won’t ask. He’s not that stupid. Maybe, he thinks, he’s a little self destructive, though, dreams of dying and all, as well as his constant need to  _ probe,  _ to figure out what exactly is going on between Rey and Finn. Maybe loving Finn is another way to self-destruct, because it’s been plain to anybody who looked that Finn loves Rey. 

(Poe knows he’s being melodramatic. More importantly, he knows that loving Finn was never about Rey, never about pain. It was always just about  _ Finn. _ ) 

“Poe,” Finn says gently. 

Poe curls his feet up underneath him and leans back against the wall of his bunk. “Forget it. I’m okay. I’m fine. I’m dealing with it. Everybody’s upset.” 

“Poe.” 

Poe presses a hand to his face.  _ Always fine, never not fine. Darling of the Resistance. General Dameron, you saved us all-  _

“Poe, you’re clearly not okay.” Finn is, somehow, kneeling by the bed, his hand dangerously close to Poe’s knee. Poe is hyperaware of every inch between them, not that he’s ever  _ not  _ aware. “Why won’t you talk to me?” 

_ That’s for damn sure.  _ “I talk to you all the time. Like I said, I’m fine.” 

Impossibly, Finn reaches out and clasps Poe’s hand, his brown eyes soft. “I know that losing Leia is hard. We all feel it, you more than anybody. But you need to talk to somebody. Anybody. Me. Rey. Jess. Rose. A med-droid, or a doctor, or that girl you used to run spice with-“ 

“I never ran spice.” Poe scrubs a hand over his face, the wine he’s drunk with Jess going to his head and making the room spin a little. “It was all a cover, years ago. That’s all. And Zorii, well, it’s not like that with her. We don’t talk about things like that. We don’t talk at all.”

Finn blinks. “The spice... That makes sense, actually. I couldn’t figure it out.” 

“Well. Now you know.” Poe lets out a breath. “And I don’t need a med-droid. I just need a nap.” 

“But-“ 

Poe pulls his hand away, even though it’s physically painful to do so. He doesn’t look Finn in the eye as he pulls his covers up to his chin, faces the wall. 

He can hear the distant sounds of Finn moving around, getting undressed-  _ don’t think about him shirtless, Poe, you’re better than that-  _ and sliding into bed. 

“Night, Poe,” Finn says eventually. Poe squeezes his eyes shut and pretends he’s asleep. 

He’s not asleep. He hasn’t slept properly since the end of the war. Sleep is when the nightmares come, after all. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> stay tuned for updates! This is the heaviest and most miserable chapter of the lot, and after this one it gets more stormpiloty (it that’s how it’s planned, anyway). Also writing this had made me realise that I actually really want to write a cheesy stormpilot post TROS to help heal my broken heart.


End file.
